The Naked Typist

“No, it isn’t,” Steve said. “Good lord, are we never going to be done with the Kelly Blaine case?”

“What’s your obligation at this point?”

“Absolutely none. The man’s given me a message to pass on to my client. I’m under no obligation to do it.”

“So? You gonna?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s not my decision to make. The guy wants to see her. Whether she sees him or not is up to her. Let’s just pass on the information and be done with it.”

“I’m not sure you should do that.”

“Why not?”

Tracy frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t like this David Castleton.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

“Based on what?”

“I don’t know.”

Steve smiled. “I do. It’s ’cause you figure he’s interested in her typing. Well, you could be right. But it’s a decision our client will have to make for herself.”

“Okay. You want me to call her?”

“I think I’d better be the one to talk to her. See if you can get her on the phone.”

Tracy went over to the cabinet, pulled Kelly Blaine’s file, looked up the number and called.

She let it ring ten times and hung up. “No answer.”

“That figures,” Steve said. “She either got another job, or she’s out looking for one.”

“More likely out shopping,” Tracy said. “She just got a thirty-three-thousand-dollar settlement. Landing a new job real quick wouldn’t be a high priority.”

“Sure,” Steve said. “And some jobs might require a more extensive wardrobe than her last one.” Tracy shot him a look. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said. “Okay. Too bad she doesn’t have an answering machine. We’ll have to try her again later. In the meantime, you got her address there?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s drop her a note asking her to call the office.”

“Fine,” Tracy said, heading for the door.

“Where you going?”

“To get my steno pad.”

“Hey, I don’t have to dictate this. It’s just, Kelly Blaine, please call my office.”

“Okay,” Tracy said.

She went out to her desk and typed the letter and the envelope, stamped and sealed it. She came back to find Steve sitting at his desk, reading the paper.

“I’m going to run this down to the post office,” she said.

“It’s not that urgent. You could drop it in the mail slot in the hall.”

“Yeah, but then it won’t get picked up till tomorrow.”

“It’s not that important,” Steve said. Then, at the look in Tracy’s eyes, “Oh, go ahead if you want to. Christ, you’re determined to make a mystery out of this, aren’t you?”

“Well, it is bizarre.”

“It was bizarre. It’s a closed case. Except for David Castleton. Which is really none of our business. I know you’d like to make something out of his interest for her. But I think basically what we have here is a horny young man who’s got the hots for our client.”

Tracy started to say something, but Steve held up his hands. “But, hey, don’t let me rain on your parade. By all means, go and mail it.”

Tracy Garvin was in a foul mood as she walked to the post office. Men. Why did Steve Winslow have to dismiss David Castleton as just a horny young man? Maybe he was, but even so. Wasn’t the fact that the grandson of the man Steve had successfully sued was interested in the client who had sued him interesting? Shouldn’t it be a top priority? As if there were any other priorities. Not that there was anything else going on in the office at the moment.

Besides, as far as Tracy was concerned, there was something about David Castleton that just didn’t quite ring true. All right, maybe it was just sex. Maybe the guy did have the hots for her. Maybe he was looking for a one-night stand and was trying to give the impression he had more honorable intentions, and that’s why he seemed slightly off.

Still maybe not.

Yeah, Tracy had to admit, maybe she did have a lot of romantic notions. Maybe she was influenced a lot by the murder mysteries she read. But hell, what was wrong with that? As far as she was concerned, the Kelly Blaine case was interesting, and she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

When Tracy got back to the office, Steve was in his inner office with the door closed. Fine. No need to report in. There was, as usual, no work to be done. She’d try Kelly Blaine again, then go back to her book. Tracy picked up the phone, punched in the number.

Once again, there was no answer.

Five rings. Six rings. Give it ten again, and then hang up.

On the seventh ring the phone was picked up.

It was a woman.

Speaking Spanish.

8

Steve Winslow looked up from his desk when Tracy Garvin came in the door.

“Yeah, Tracy?” he said.

“I got an answer at Kelly Blaine’s.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. An Hispanic woman. She spoke no English, and I speak no Spanish, but we still managed to communicate. One thing for sure-the name Kelly Blaine means nothing to her.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Maybe you got the number wrong.”

Tracy gave him a look.

Steve shrugged. “I’m sorry, but it happens.”

“I didn’t get the number wrong.”

“Well, maybe she gave it to you wrong.”

“Exactly,” Tracy said. “And if she did, that’s interesting.”

Steve smiled. “Tracy, everything doesn’t have to be a mystery. You gotta remember, the girl was really hassled. She’d just had a traumatic experience. It wouldn’t be that unusual if she just happened to juggle a couple of numbers.”

“Come on. You don’t know your own phone number?”

“Maybe it’s the area code.”

“What?”

“Maybe she’s got a seven-one-eight number but she didn’t give you the area code. So you’re dialing a two- one-two number and of course it’s wrong.”

Tracy shook her head. “No. Her address is Manhattan.”

“Where is it?”

“East Seventy-seventh Street. If that’s where she lives,” she added.